Chimes In The Dark
by Limit Of Exploitation
Summary: The dust swirled around her Altberg boots, kicked up by the dry Afghan breeze. It got everywhere, that dust. Caked in the creases of skin on hands, encrusted in hair, embedded in weapons... Streaked down the face of a crying child.


_The dust swirled around her Altberg boots, kicked up by the dry Afghan breeze. It got everywhere, that fucking dust. Caked in the creases of skin on hands, encrusted in hair, embedded in weapons... Streaked down the face of a crying child._

 _The dust swirled higher around Bashira, her green eyes panicked and wide in the maelstrom. Molly reached forward, fingers stretching out toward the girl. The girl was shouting, reaching out through the cloud of sand and dirt toward the medic. The IED vest was tight around the child, wires twisting and coiling over her small torso. Bashira pointed at the vest, pointed at Molly and shouted._

 _Molly strained but couldn't hear anything but chiming and the whine of a fast wind; the high pealing noise was rising and falling with every gust. Molly started to panic. She tried to lift her feet but found them rooted to the spot. Her arms- which had been stretching out for the frightened girl were suddenly weighted down to her side._

 _Bashira was still shouting soundlessly, the dirt tornado whirling up and over her head when she suddenly stopped, a terrified expression on her face. Slowly, the child looked down at the IED strapped to her chest, then looked up at Molly. This time when she opened her mouth, the dust storm dropped away leaving only the sound of a distant ringing. 'Molly,' Bashira whispered._

 _Then the IED detonated._

Molly clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle the scream as she sat bolt upright in her cot. The chiming was still sounding somewhere and in her panicked state, Molly twisted to locate the noise. Her legs, tangled in the army-issue sleeping bag slipped off the cot and dragged the rest of her down to the floor of the medic tent. She landed with a thump that knocked the wind out of her lungs.

For a moment, she lay there stunned. Eventually, Molly pushed herself up onto her elbows and wriggled out of the sleeping bag. Wiping her face with both hands, she brushed the wetness of tears she didn't realise she'd shed onto her tank top and stood in the semi-dark with her hands on her hips.

The tent flapped against the night wind, canvas slapping against the metal poles. The pealing echoed around the forward operating base again; the sound from her dream. Molly raised her head to listen before huffing in irritation. Grabbing her hoodie from the top of her pack, she pulled it on over her tank top and tugged it as low as she could over her shorts. Kicking a toe gingerly around in the dark she found her Altbergs and slid them onto her feet, wrapping the laces around the ankle rather than lacing them up properly.

Slinging her rifle over one shoulder, Molly leant down and unzipped her tent, stepping out into the cold air. Pausing for a moment under the canopy, she looked up at the night sky. Stars winked in their millions, tiny lights in a universe of darkness.

She wondered if Bashira could see the same stars wherever she was, and her heart pulled. 'Stop it,' she whispered to herself. The breeze swirled around her bare legs and her ears pricked to the sound of the pealing chime. Following the sound, Molly walked around the back of the wagons that were parked close to the scoff hut. The shadows were deeper here, the light of the flood lamps cut off in the recess between the compound wall, the scoff hut and the wagons.

The tinkling noise seemed closer, and pulling herself up into the last wagon, Molly spotted the wind chime. It dangled from the cage roof, the slim metal bars winking in the gloom between the grab straps and canvas ties. Reaching a hand up she unhooked the instrument, closing the cool metal in her fingers and silencing the song.

Jumping down from the wagon, she trudged back toward her tent, examining the wind chime in her hand. It was a small thing, a carved wooden handle decorated with swirls and slim metal bars that ranged between a couple of inches to around five inches long. It was a strange thing to send to someone in a war zone, so she could only assume that someone had found it and attached it to a wagon as a joke.

Pushing back the flap of her tent, Molly dropped the chime onto the end of the patient table and sank onto her cot, elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. If she'd been looking at herself from an outside perspective she'd have said she was fragged in the nut. The tour was taking it out of her one death at a time.

'Dawes?'

Molly shot up, both hands gripping her rifle as a dark figure pushed aside the tent opening. As her pounding heart tried to escape via her mouth, Molly's brain kicked into gear and registered that the intruder was not intent on killing her, but was in fact Captain James. ' _Sir_ ', Molly gasped. 'Fuck's sake.' She dropped back onto her cot, shrugging off the rifle and propping it against the wall before looking back at her Captain.

He stood awkwardly at the entrance, hovering between the outside and the in as though warring with himself. Molly said nothing, but met his dark gaze squarely as he chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. After a long moment, he glanced outside as though checking the coast was clear, stepped into the tent and pulled down the zip firmly.

'What's wrong?' he demanded, hands planted firmly on his hips. 'Why are you sneaking around the FOB in the middle of the night?'

Molly shook her head mutely, pushing a lock of hair away from her face as she studiously examined her feet. 'Nothing,' she said, and then paused. ' _Everything'_ , she finished sadly, ignoring the second part of his question.

James knelt beside her, one calloused hand slipping under her chin to raise her gaze to his. He was so close she could smell him; the clean scent of soap mixed with something indefinably _him_. Sweeping her eyes over his hair, Molly half smiled at the mussed brown locks that he'd clearly raked a hand through recently. Stubble was forming on his jaw, defining his already high cheekbones.

'What're you smiling at?' he asked gently, concerned gaze searching her face. His tone was light, careful. The roughness of his hand on her skin was tempered by the tenderness of his touch. Molly shook her head again, the smile fading slightly. 'Your hair,' she murmured. 'It's a mess. It's all a mess.'

James frowned, his brow creasing sternly. 'Dawes, what are you talking about?' he asked gently. He gripped the top of her arms in both hands, dipping his head down to keep eye contact as Molly looked away. 'Molly,' he said with a gentle shake. 'Talk to me.'

Molly leant away, raising the back of a hand to her mouth to hide her quivering lower lip. 'I keep seeing 'em,' she said with a suppressed sob. 'In my sleep,' she continued, seeing his confused expression. 'Bashira, Sohail, Rolex Boy... especially Bashira-'

'Stop, Dawes,' James interrupted, pulling her to him, tucking her head under his chin as his arms encircled her. 'Stop.'

Molly slid her arms around his waist, closing her eyes and burying her face in his chest. He was warm and solid, comfortingly real against the ghosts of her mind. She felt herself being pulled from the edge of the cot manoeuvred into his lap and did not fight it, until she was sitting in the dip of his crossed legs on the floor, his back pressed firmly against the bed. He stroked his fingers gently down her spine, circling the vertebrae as he went. 'None of this is your fault,' she felt him murmur. The vibration of his voice reverberated through her. 'None of it.'

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours, though from her position in her CO's lap, Molly could see the desk clock illuminating 0307. She felt warm, comfortable. Maybe, if she stayed here forever, things would be alright?

She turned her face into James' neck and inhaled deeply, brushing her nose along his jaw line. James leant his head back carefully, breaking the contact. 'This is against regulations,' he whispered gently. It wasn't a telling off, but it was a cue to stop. Molly leant away from him and studied his face. He had his eyes closed as though concentrating very hard, and his brow was creased, leaving two little lines on either side of his nose. He was right and it wasn't fair of her to push for more in a war zone- it was bad enough that he had already broken so many rules for her. With a small sigh, Molly shifted to get up.

James let out the smallest of groans, arms tightening around her waist. His eyes snapped open. 'Dawes,' he said desperately. 'Just.. don't move for a moment.'

'Why?' Molly asked, confused. She shifted again and suddenly became very aware of why her Captain didn't want her to move. _'Oh,_ ' she said breathlessly.

'Why do you have to have short shorts, Dawes?' James growled, his arms slipping down her back until his large hands could cup her backside, drawing her to him more firmly. Molly let out a whoosh of breath as she was hitched closer, biting her lip to keep from squeaking as his hardness pressed solidly against her.

'We're waitin' out,' she reminded him shakily, palms pressed flat against his chest.

James glared at her in the gloom, his eyes dark and hot. ' _I_ know that,' he replied tightly. 'But _he_ ,' he said with a nod toward his groin, 'doesn't.'

Molly bit her lip thoughtfully, then moved her hips experimentally. James hissed, jaw tight as his eyes shut again and he brought his head forward to lean against hers. ' _Dawes_ ,' he groaned. 'Please. If we go there...'

Molly could finish the sentence for him. Reluctantly she pulled away from him and stood up, crossing her arms under her breasts and stepping back to let him get up from the floor.

James took a deep breath and pushed himself up, pulling like an awkward teenager at the front of his trousers to hide the evidence of his feelings. 'We're waiting out,' he said quietly- so quietly Molly wondered whether he was speaking to himself.

'Yes, Boss,' she whispered back.

He looked at her with a serious expression and stepped into the gap Molly had created. Cupping her face with both hands he raised her face to his and dropped feather-light kiss on the end of her nose.

'That doesn't mean that I don't want you, Dawes,' he said quietly. Molly nodded.

'In fact, the amount of wanting is really quite close to madness,' he continued in an almost conversational tone. 'So I would appreciate it if those short shorts stayed in your kit bag for the duration, please.'

Molly stifled a snort of laughter, meeting his eyes. 'Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.' His hands dropped back to his sides and Molly folded her arms around herself as though trying to contain the butterflies that raced around her stomach.

James crossed to the tent entrance and unzipped the door. He glanced out cautiously then gave Molly a dazzling smile that warmed her insides. 'I'll save them for Brize,' she said with a half smile. James shot her a look filled with promise and pointed at the shorts; 'Kit bag,' he said firmly. Then he was gone, the zip shut firmly behind him.

Climbing back into her cot, Molly glanced at the desk clock. 0340. Lying still in the dark she listened for any noise. This time, no chimes rang out and even the wind had died down. She closed her eyes and did not dream.

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